Old Dog
by Razzaroo
Summary: Everyone has bad days, even the nations. And sometimes, even the nations need a shoulder to cry on.


**A/N. Just some pointless OTP fluff I wrote for the kink meme. I know I should be working on my other stories but I've been having a crap time lately so I needed something to cheer me up. The next chapters for my other projects are in the works and two of them are nearly finished so don't fret.**

* * *

Sometimes, Denmark wants to quit his job. Centuries of history weigh down on him, sometimes at the worst possible times. He's dealt with difficult bosses and the issues he has to iron out with his work tend to be more than a computer glitch or a miscommunication.

Today is one of those "sometimes."

His home is quiet and empty when he walks in the front door; not even the cat gets up to greet him like it usually does. He sighs and pushes his hair out of his face, kicking the door closed behind him and leaving his briefcase on the coffee table. His whole day has been about sorting out the fine details for a meeting the next day and he's tired and frustrated. Even on the way home on the train, he found little relief as his vision couldn't focus on his notes and he couldn't finish before he got home.

The cat's asleep on the back of the settee and he absently strokes the thick, soft fur. He collapses onto the settee and rubs his temples. The cat shifts, its tail batting against the side of his head. His head is pounding and he groans, closing his eyes to block out the light.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, looking at the caller ID. Despite the pain in his head, he smiles.

"Evenin' Casper," he says, "How's my favourite Dutchman?"

Netherlands grunts before he replies, "_I'll tell you when I see you. Are you home?"_

Denmark winces as his head throbs and he presses a hand against his forehead, suppressing another groan. He can hear the sounds of a train in the background on Netherlands's end.

"Yeah, I'm home," he says, "Just come straight here, if ya like. You can stay here for the meetin'."

"_It's a good thing I haven't made any hotel reservations then." _Denmark can picture Netherlands's small smile in his mind's eye.

"Ya've always got a reservation here," he says, "Day or night."

Netherlands goes quiet for a moment and Denmark sits up, just waiting for the Dutchman to respond. It puts him on edge when Netherlands goes quiet like this; it's almost like when Norway goes quiet after he says something particularly stupid.

Stupid in Norway's opinion anyway; Denmark usually thought it wasn't that bad.

"_I can't tell if that means you want sex or just my company," _Netherlands says eventually, "_Though I suppose it wouldn't matter; you're always infectiously happy."_

Oh, if only Netherlands knew. Denmark reaches up and strokes his cat's thick fur, ignoring that his headache is only getting worse. The pain is focussed on one side of his head, a horrible throbbing pain.

"Well, when you get here, just knock on the door," he says, rolling over and hiding his face in one of his cushions, "And I'll let ya in."

By the time the Netherlands knocks on the door, Denmark's headache has worsened. It's now accompanied by nausea and he's had to draw the curtains because the weak light of the sunset hurts his eyes. He's curled up on the settee, covered by a thick blanket, just waiting for the pain to lessen.

* * *

When Netherlands knocks on the door, Denmark groans and tries to bury his face even further in the pillow. He doesn't want to move; he doesn't want to do _anything. _He forces himself to stand and he cries out in pain as the throbbing increases with his movement.

He opens the door, leaning heavily on it for support, and only manages to give the Netherlands a small smile in greeting.

"Hey there, Casper."

The Netherlands frowns as he steps inside the house. He brushes Denmark's hair away from his face and feels for a temperature.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks, "You look terrible."

He shuts the door as quietly as he can but, even then, Denmark flinches as the sound causes pain to shoot through his head. Dark spots are dancing in front of his eyes again and he leans forward and rests his forehead against Netherlands's shoulder.

"Just havin' a bad day," he says, his voice coming out barely a whisper.

He feels Netherlands run his hands through his hair and slip an arm around his waist, guiding him back to the settee. Every moment makes the pain in his head intensify and leans back against the settee, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. He feels chilled all over.

"How long have you been feeling terrible?" Netherlands asks, sitting down next to him.

Denmark can feel tears stinging in his eyes when he looks up at the other nation. Netherlands's expression softens into something sympathetic and he, hesitantly, moves in and pulls Denmark into a hug.

"You'll be all right," he says softly, "You know you'll be all right."

Denmark clings to the Netherlands and he feels the tears in his eyes spill out. His chest jumps with sobs and every movement just intensifies the pain in his head. His nose is quickly blocked and he finds it hard to breathe between sobs.

The Netherlands stays perfectly still, his hold gentle, while Denmark cries. Denmark's hold just tightens as the pain in his head increases and he lets out a soft whine, the sound muffled by Netherlands's shirt.

Netherlands slowly pulls away and uses the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the tears off of Denmark's face. There's a small wet patch on his shirt from Denmark's crying and Denmark's breath hitches as he tries to compose himself.

"Try and calm down," the Netherlands says, "And I'll get you some painkillers."

While Netherlands goes through to the kitchen to get the tablets, Denmark huddles on the settee, tears still running down his cheeks and he occasionally hiccups as he tries to get his breathing back under control. His head feels like it's splitting apart and his vision is clouded by more than tears. His reports are still on the coffee table, by his briefcase, but he can't bring himself to care about them anymore.

"Feeling better?" the Netherlands asks, gently nudging Denmark's shoulder, "Even a little bit?"

There's nothing Denmark can do to stop the tears from falling so he just sniffs, wincing at the pain it causes to jolt through his head, and rubs at his eyes.

"A little," he says, "Head's worse."

Netherlands leans down and quickly kisses him on the cheek, "That's what the tablets are for."

He sits back down next to Denmark and hands him a glass of water and two small tablets. Denmark offers him a small smile in thanks and swallows the pills down in one go with the water.

"Thanks," he says. He puts the glass down on the coffee table, next to his work. All the papers can wait until morning.

He moves closer to the Netherlands, tucking his feet underneath him and resting his head on the other nation's shoulder. Netherlands wraps an arm around him and he closes his eyes, sighing softly and waiting for the medicine to take effect.

"You should have taken it ages ago," the Netherlands says, "Then you wouldn't have got this bad."

"Mmhmm," Denmark says, his face still sticky with tears. He feels oddly exhausted.

Netherlands is gently rubbing Denmark's arm, the sensation soothing and familiar. Denmark allows himself to relax, despite the pain in his head, and draws the blanket closer. While he knows he still has work to do, he feels like a weight has been lifted off of his chest.

"Sorry," he murmurs, "We've had better starts to conference weeks."

"Don't worry about it," Netherlands replies, "You're an old dog, Matthias. Old dogs just have bad days sometimes."


End file.
